"But if a body's innocent before ye even take 'em to trial, then ye'd be bringin' an innocent man to trial. Where's the sense in that?" Liam looked around at the group, who nodded in support. "'Every place is safe to him who lives wi' justice.' That's frae Epictetus."
"I don't care if it's from Pee-Wee Herman; you guys are positively medieval!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you think I'm guilty of being a witch and I'll have to prove to you that I'm . . ." Her voice faded away to a squeak. "Oh, no. You can't be serious."
The faces around her were uniformly solemn. She looked to Darach. "You wouldn'tyou couldn't" she stammered. She seized his sleeve. "You can't do this. It's totally ridiculous. It's against the law."
He looked away. "I am the law."
The man named Niall cleared his throat. "We've been talkin', Darach. We canna rest easy wi' that one in our midst. We need to know if she's the witch or no."
"I'm not! I don't believe in any of that Bell, Book & Candle stuff! I don't even have any crystals or incense or chimes in my apartment." Julia looked desperately at the men before her. "I'm just a plain old ordinary woman. I didn't want to come here. But I was being chased by some mobsters from New York. They were going to kill me."
"Who did she say was chasin' her?" Bruce asked Tommy, sotto voce.
"Lobsters from York," the boy replied.
"That's daft," said the older man. Tommy only shrugged.
"No, you don't understand." Julia began again. "Not lobstersoh, this is getting too strange!"
"Are ye firm on the matter?" Darach asked the lairds, ignoring Julia's agitation.
"We are," said Gordon stoutly. "We'd have her examined."
Darach looked about the group. "And so say ye all?"
Not every head nodded, but no one dissented. Julia's heart went cold. If she could only wake up from this nightmare. But she'd already tried pinching herself and all she had to show for her troubles was bruises.
"If ye're all agreed, it will be done." Darach looked at Julia. She thought she saw pity in his eyes and fought against her fears. "Ye'll be charged and stand to the questions."
"But how can I possibly defend myself against such a ridiculous charge? I've seen The Crucible and I know my history." She put her bound hands on his arm. "Anyone can claim someone is a witch for any reasonand nothing they do or say can prove that they are or they aren't because it's all just a lot of fear and ignorance and prejudice."
Darach looked down at her once more. "I'm no' an ignorant man," he said evenly. "Nor a fearful one. But if ye are a witch and my people suffer for my lack of testin' ye, then I'm damned for a fool and your unwitting accomplice."
She dropped her hands and looked to Alasdair. His eyes showed a brief spark of sympathy for her, then hardened as he shook his head. She looked about at the faces of the other men. Some showed fear, some curiosity, others mistrust. But none of them revealed any sign that they might champion her cause. Darach's word was indeed law.
"How . . ." Her voice stuck again. She cleared her throat, anger and indignation coming to aid her composure. "How do you propose to test me?"
"We'll send for the priest from Kinloch village," Darach said. "He'll do the questionin'."
"Just questioning?" Relief flowed into her. She'd imagined some arcane ritual involving thumbscrews and fire and . . . worse.
"If that's all that's required, aye."
"And if it's not?" A sharp quiver of fear replaced her relief.
Darach hesitated, then eyed her squarely. "Then we'll do whatever's necessary."
Julia's knees changed to water. She glanced around the circle of men once more. "And it's what all of you want?" she asked softly.
Only one or two met her eyes. But again no one contested the decision.
"Take me back to my cell," she said, holding herself stiff against the fear that threatened to engulf her.
"Lass, ye must understand"
"I understand perfectly, Mr. MacStruan," she said, her voice tight with shock. "Take me back."
The seven lairds trailed after Julia, Darach, and Alasdair as they crossed the green to Darach's house once more. Even the chickens seemed to clear out of her way, Julia noted ruefully. No doubt they'd been told she could turn their eggs into charcoal briquettes with a twitch of her nose.
Alasdair left them at the door, hanging back to remain with the other lairds. Darach only gave him a glance, then took Julia's arm and led her back to the little room under the stairs.
He undid the bonds on her wrists. She went in meekly and sat down on the cot. He stood by the door for a moment, as if waiting to see what she would do.
"Ye may go out tomorrow, as well," he began.
"Don't bother," she said. "I wouldn't want to terrify all you big, strong men."
"As ye wish."
He still waited by the door. She looked up to see something in his dark features that she couldn't quite place. "What?" "It's our way, lass," he said softly. "I canna afford to take a chance wi' ye."
"So you've said."
"Ye didna have to come here."
"Didn't I?" She raised her hands. "I don't see how."
He moved into the cell, filling it with his presence, making her acutely aware of him in all his height and power. "Ye should have stayed at home, where ye belong. But if ye're goin' to trespass on your enemy's land, ye must expect to pay the consequences when ye're caught."
"If I told you that I don't know how I got here, would you believe me?"
"Are ye sayin' ye lost your wits?" He shook his head. "Anyone who can argue philosophy and law wi' our Liam, no matter how backward her notions, doesna seem too addled to me."
Her hopes sank once more. "I should have known."
"Known what?"
"That you wouldn't believe me." She rose and stood at the head of the cot. "I hardly believe it myself. All I know is that I was running away from someone who was trying to kill me. I stumbled, fell down a hill, and your men took me prisoner. That's all I know. I don't even know who you guys areonly that you're the strangest bunch I've ever met outside of a California peace-and-bean sprout cult commune." She gave a wry half-smile. "I don't suppose you're all worshipers of the Cosmic Muffin, are you?" He scowled. "We worship God. Is that what ye worship, this muffin idol?"
She sighed. "No. I'm a plain old Protestant."
"What do ye protest?"
It was her turn to goggle. "Protest? Nothing, really. Oh, occasionally I've marched for human rights and I've written lettersoh, that's not what you mean, is it?" She chewed her lip. Given what she'd seen on the green and what little she knew of Scots history, she had to assume that they were Catholic. Or was it Presbyterian? Better not to get into denominations; she was on thin enough ice already. "I worship God, too."
He looked relieved. "That's good, then." He stepped closer. She responded to his proximity, the scent and sight and sound of him, with her whole being, causing her to shiver a bit. His effect on her startled her, confusing her thoughts for a moment.
"Ye must tell that to the priest," he said.
"Tell what?" she asked, dazed.
He shook his head. "Dunna play daft wi' me. I just said ye're no' a halfwit. And I'm no' a fool. Ye must tell the priest that ye're a believer."
"Will he believe me?"
He paused. "I willna lie to ye, lass. I canna say."
"You keep talking about these people, the Morestons. It all sounds like the Hatfields and the McCoys. Who are they?"
"Perhaps ye can tell me."
She smacked the cot with the flat of her palm. ''I've already told you! I don't know anyone by that name, and from the way you all act when you so much as mention them, I'm sure I don't want to know them." She calmed herself down with an effort. "Look, you've accused me of being a witch. I've heard you talking about the Moreston witch and I think that's who you think I am. If I'm going to defend myself against these charges, I think I have a right to know what I'm up against."
He pondered her words for a moment. "Very well
. The Morestons, as ye know, are our sworn enemies. They've done naught but harm to my clan for generations. Lately they've managed to steal lands from us, plague our cattle and crops, and issue threats against my people. They seem to know where to strike to do us the greatest hurt." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile and Julia saw a spark ignite in the darkness of his eyes. "It is well known that Craigen, the Moreston, has a witch under his roof. Whether she is kin to him or a Sassenach, an outlander, no one knows. But all agree that she advises him on all matters and that she has the power to do harm and even bring death by magic."
In spite of herself, Julia felt a pang of sympathy for all that he and his people had been through. Then she caught herself. He was talking about a witch! This wasn't even real.
Still, she decided, she might as well play along. If she humored him, she might gain more information that could help her to escape. "And no one's ever seen her?" He shook his head. "Nay. One or twa have said they'd sighted herand livedbut their descriptions were aye so different they were useless. Besides, it's rumored that the Moreston's crone can change her shape at will, as can many of her kind. She might appear in any form." He looked pointedly at her. "Even in the form of a beautiful lass."
An odd little thrill of pleasure coursed through her at his last words. Unreasonably, her heart, and her cheeks, warmed at the thought that Darach MacStruan, who seemed so mountainous and cool, would find her beautiful, and she was astonished to know that he even had eyes for beauty.
Yet she saw his resolution to put her to this awful test. He believed she was his enemy. And so did everyone else in this village. Her pleasure slipped into chilly fear once more.
"When will the priest come?" she asked, her throat constricting against the words. She struggled against the visions of humiliation and torture that taunted her brain.
"I'll no' make ye wait overlang," he said, walking back to the door. "I'll send a man to Kinloch on the morrow to fetch him here." He put his hand to the latch, then hesitated. "If there's anything else ye need, ye may ask."
She couldn't meet his eyes. Tears welled too close to the surface and she would never, never give him the satisfaction of seeing her weep. "Nothing. There's nothing I need."
She listened as he went out, hearing again the ominous thunking of the bar across the door. She heard his boots as he climbed the stairs. When she knew she was alone at last, she slipped down onto the cot and allowed her tears to fall.
Alasdair waited for Darach in the great hall. He'd drawn a pitcher of ale, and two cups stood on the small table at one end of the room. Darach went straight over and poured himself a full cup. He drank it off quickly, then followed it with another.
"It's a tad early to get bleezin' blind drunk, wouldn't ye say?"
Darach turned a baleful eye toward his younger brother. Alasdair shrugged. "Just askin'." He draped himself into a chair and sipped his own drink.
Darach drank off his second cup and poured a third.
"So. Ye're leavin' her to the kirk, eh?"
Darach sat, still scowling. "Do ye see I have much choice?"
"Nay, I'd say not."
Darach turned the cup about in his big hands. "If ye've aught to say to me, oganach, spill it."
Alasdair shook his head. "Not I. I value my head too much. But I canna help but wonder, do ye believe she's truly the Moreston's hag?"
Darach kept his eyes on his cup. "I don't know."
After a long silence, Alasdair spoke. "What of what she said out there on the green? About a person bein' innocent until their guilt is proved?"
"Sounds guilty as sin. Why?"
"The notion struck me as both passin' strange and yet passin' wise, as well."
"Wise?"
"Aye. Ye must admit it's easier to produce proof of guilt than of innocence. Seems that's where the law should rest its interests."
"There's never been a soul born innocent on this earth. 'Twould make no sense to assume they are."
"Ye have the right of it in the eyes o' the kirk, but I'm only talkin' about law. How easy would it be, were we to go before a court, to prove our innocence in these matters wi' the Morestons?"
"We are innocent!" Darach's eyes flashed.
"True. Ye have no quarrel wi' me on that." Alasdair lounged back in his chair. "But which would be the easier, to prove they're guilty or we're innocent?"
Darach could hardly believe his ears. Was this his own flesh and blood talking such madness? "That's as daft as askin' if it'd be easier to go up a hill or down! What's the matter wi' ye? Are ye goin' all soft over a wee lass?"
Alasdair only grinned. "I'd say it would depend upon the hill. And I'm no' takin' sides against ye, brother. I was only intrigued by what she had to say."
"Aye. She does seem to have that effect on a body."
"I wonder who this Pee-Wee Herman fella is she was speakin' of. Some kind of judge, do ye suppose? Or maybe a prophet?"
Darach only shrugged. Alasdair quaffed the last of his drink, set the cup down with a thunk, and rose to his feet. "I'll be off then, brother."
"Where do ye ken ye're goin'? There's work to be done."
"I thought ye needed a man to go to Kinloch and fetch a priest?"
Darach groaned. "Aye. And as well ye as another of the lads. Last time Liam went, he made Fergus Dewey sae mad wi' his talk of the earth bein' round that Dewey threatened to take him before Father Martin for excommunication." He pushed out of his chair. "Leave at first light tomorrow. And be quick. No lettin' those restless feet o' yours go wanderin' about the whole of the Highlands." He gave a glance toward the stairs. "I told the lass we'd no' keep her waitin'."
Chapter Five
At the last moment, Darach chose to ride with Alasdair to Kinloch. He told his brother that he wanted to talk with some of the men there about selling their cattle, but privately he knew the real reason for the trip. He needed to leave in order to avoid seeing Julia.
Yesterday's events had shaken himhe had to admit that. If he'd known what a problem the woman would be, how she would prey upon his peace of mind and stir things up among his people, he'd have tossed her across his horse that first day and ridden off to deposit her at Craigen's door. Already he had come within a hairbreadth of exchanging blows with his brother. She had the men in such a ferment of curiosity and fear that they could scarcely concentrate on anything else. He was off now to find a priest who could try a woman as a witch. And that woman, witch or no, all too often invaded his thoughts and his senses.
He'd had a difficult time yesterday shaking off the image of her wide eyes searching his, looking for any sign of mercy or hope of pardon. The sight of her, fresh from her bath and dressed in one of his mother's old gowns, had all but made his heart stop. Moreover, because of the trews she'd been wearing before, he knew almost exactly what lay beneath the more modest attire. And that knowledge made his mind wander off, even now, onto paths that had nothing to do with priests, duty, clan struggles, or the price of beef in Kinloch.
"Are ye thinkin' o' Brother James?"
Darach looked up at Alasdair in puzzlement. No, he certainly hadn't been thinking about the grizzled old priest who'd served in Kinloch for some years.
"For the test? Are ye thinkin' Brother James should be the one to do it?"
"Oh. Aye. Brother Jamie's a sound man. He'll know what to do."
"Do ye think we should set another watch over the cattle? If the Morestons try another o' their tricks, we might be able to run them off."
Darach was grateful for the change of subject. They launched into a discussion of cattle, trade, and clan business that kept his mind off Julia Addison for a blessedly long time.
The news in Kinloch was not favorable. Brother James had been recalled to Saint Giles's kirk in Edinburgh and he had left at once. It would be several weeks, one of the monks reckoned, before his replacement would arrive.
Darach knew he could still ask Father Martin to perform the task, but the younger priest had always struck Darach as too inte
llectual and out of touch with real people. And to ask him to come to the clan village to examine a witch would leave the whole of Kinloch's kirk and parish without a priest, perhaps for several days.
He made his decision. The testing would have to wait until the new priest arrived. He turned his mind to cattle once again and deliberately avoided any contemplation of the motives behind his decision.
He and Alasdair completed the rest of their business in Kinloch, spent the night on the meadow outside the village walls to save the high cost of an inn room and stabling for their horses, and rode for home early the following morning. The lairds gathered about Darach as soon as he rode into the village. He told them the news.
"Ye mean to say we're to be left here at her mercy for weeks?" Gordon demanded.
"Couldn't Father Martin have come?" asked Liam.
"It's no' that lang until the new priest comes," Darach reassured them. "We'll be on our guard, and she'll be under our guard. Besides, in that time her people may come for her and we'll know if she's the Morestons' spy or no."
The men grumbled some under their breaths, but no one contested Darach's decision outright. Bruce posed the question that Darach least wanted to answer.
"What shall we do wi' her, then?"
"Leave her right where she is," Gordon retorted. "Locked up, safe as houses. She's no' to be trusted out o' that cell."
Ross frowned. "That seems a bit cruel," he said slowly. "She's flesh and blood, same as we."
"But if she's let out, someone'll have to guard her every moment," Niall said. "That'll mean one less man, day and night."
"We could take her back to Craigen." Liam nodded around at them. "If we dunna want her and we canna watch over her, we should take her back where she came from."
"Deliver her straight back into his hands? So that she can work more mischief in freedom?" Tommy looked at Darach. "That doesna make sense to me."
"The lad's right," Darach said. "Even if she proves she's no' a witch, she might have learned more about us than we know. And Craigen would no' waste a moment takin' advantage."
"Chain her up!" Gordon insisted. "Give her enough to move about a bit but make sure she's secured. She's no' some princess to be expectin' courtesy from her enemies."
The Mirror & The Magic Page 5